the earth is losing its hold
by WickedSong
Summary: "John Garrett doesn't lose. If he's going to hell then he's not going alone."


**the earth is losing its hold,**

**written by wickedsong.**

**Disclaimer/Note: I do not own AoS. So I initially wrote this before The Only Light In The Darkness aired, and then went back and edited it following Nothing Personal. It also contains some brief speculation for something that could possibly happen in Ragtag but it's not very clear or substantial so it should be okay. Lots of angst ahead because that's how I seem to be rolling because this show is ruining my life. Title is from the song The Earth Is Losing Its Hold by Calhoun which inspired me during the editing. Hope you enjoy!**

* * *

His strength is fading but he catches snippets of their conversation.

If he could he would laugh at the chance of redemption that his boy takes from the girl he betrayed him for.

That boy is a monster. He knows this better than anyone. He created him with his own hands. Fashioned from the ashes of a broken teenager, he was his most perfect soldier.

His sight is blurring but his aim is still sharp. He watches as his boy walks away from him and into what he thinks is the light.

But John Garrett doesn't lose. If he's going to hell then he's not going alone.

He owns that boy's soul and he doesn't think it should be any different in his death.

The shot rings out, accompanied by a desperate gasp and that girl shouting his boy's name.

The twisted satisfaction on his face is permanent and the gun falls from his hand.

* * *

Skye is unsure of what she can say or what she can do. Her gun is still aimed at Ward while his own is directed away from her and instead lies fixated on his mentor. John Garrett is prone against the wall, his blood everywhere. Ward hasn't lowered his weapon since he took the shot moments ago.

Skye wonders if he'll just stand there forever even though she knows he can't. She takes a tentative step forward, her own firearm still firmly directed towards her - she guesses she should say former - S.O. "Ward." She's quiet. She doesn't think he'll shoot her, she thinks he's made his choice, but she can't be sure. She _hates_ that she can't be sure.

When he's still unresponsive, Skye turns her attention to the comms, over which FitzSimmons have been shouting for her since the shots rang out. "I'm fine." Ward's still staring into the vacant eyes of his supervising officer. "Ward…Ward shot Garrett."

There are questions, she knows that, but FitzSimmons seem tactful enough not to ask them right now. AC is suddenly in her ear, telling her to get out of there and that they're coming to meet her.

But she can't leave him. As much as she remembers their last conversation before this day; as much as she remembers how ill he made her feel; how repulsed, she can't leave him standing there, as much as she couldn't let him die.

"Ward," she attempts again once the voices have died down on the other side of the comm. She keeps her gun trained on him, in case of sudden movement. "_Grant_," she tries, wondering if that'll get through him.

It seems to snap him out of it; somehow, like the time he felt that rage from the Berserker staff, because he suddenly drops the gun he used to kill Garrett and slowly turns his head to face her. He doesn't say anything for a long moment and she thinks he might fall to his knees. She wonders what's holding him up.

He only shakes his head as he stares at the floor beneath him. "What have I done?"

It's the one question she can't answer. He told her that someday she'd understand and she still can't – not fully. But she knows enough now – has seen enough - to know that there were a lot of things she didn't understand in the cargo hold that day.

It doesn't wash it away and she still doesn't know how to forgive. So much lies broken at their feet and yet at the heart of it is one fact; she's still alive, still breathing, while the man who ordered her execution - twice now - takes his last breaths feet away from her.

It's the _only_ thing she can grasp onto.

She somehow needs him to find it too.

"Get out of here," he tells her quickly. "Get out of here now. When the others see what I've…done, they're going to-"

She stops him. "I'm not leaving you here."

He shakes his head, pulling away from her. "You should." He flinches a little, when he looks back over to Garrett. But he shakes his head. "If I die it doesn't matter. I don't deserve to-"

"You can face up to what you've done," she interrupts, stating it as if it's the simplest thing in the world. And she knows it's not. By this point she's lowered her gun, no longer aiming it at him. She tries to reach out to him but he continues to create distance between them. "You can be a better man, Grant, you just have to want to try." She steps back from him. "You can either die here – for _nothing_ – or try to right your wrongs."

It's an olive branch, the only one he's going to get and she's not going to force him to take it. If he comes with her, it's going to lead to arrests, and to trials. He's going to be drained of every HYDRA secret he has and she knows that he knows that.

She notices how his eyes flicker; between the man who trained him, made him everything he is, and then to her. She remembers what AC said once about saving people from themselves. How if you got to them early enough, you could do it. It might not be early enough – the way Garrett spoke to him tells her that there's damage to his soul and his mind (some that was probably there before John Garrett ever found him) that has been done and it can never be undone - but it's not too late.

If he takes this chance now, it's never too late.

He nods to her and it's a glimpse of a man she knows he can be.

It's not going to be easy; no one ever said it was, but it's a start.

* * *

One bullet from an almost-dead man changes it all.

He doesn't fall as soon as it hits him. He's only stunned, momentarily, his hand finding the bleeding wound. A shot fired right through him and he doesn't find the strength to fall, not until he sees his hands coated in his own blood.

_That's_ when he falls.

He feels her trying to catch him but he's dead weight already and they both collapse to the floor.

_There's not enough time_, he thinks desperately, _there's not enough time._

"Grant," she says to him. The way she says his name is like a lifeline. "Stay with me okay. Everyone's on their way. You're going to be-"

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he about manages to croak out. "Tell them I'm sorry."

For so much that he can't even begin to describe. It all starts with a boy and the people he couldn't save, and then the boy becomes what he thinks is a man. But he's not a man at all. He's still a scared little boy; only the little boy knows how to use guns and knives and his fists. He can fool people now and that makes him more dangerous than anything.

He only becomes the man in the moment he goes back to the start. It is in the moment he saves the brother and sister who aren't his brother and sister at all and stops the older brother by putting a bullet into his chest that he becomes the man.

He's sorry.

She gives a laugh, that doesn't really sound like a laugh at all. "You'll be able to tell them yourself." Her hands are covered in his blood as she tries to apply pressure to the wound. A part of him hates it. Hates that she's still caring, after all he's done.

She's been in this position before, he remembers. She must know it's futile.

"You know, I actually hate the Patriots."

"What?" she asks, shaking her head, finally looking at him, moving so that she's cradling his head in her lap. "Why…?"

"But I am ticklish." Another stab of pain and he shudders. "And…and I like board games."

"Grant…"

"I would've…I would've tried…"

Would he? Could he? He'll never know now.

She nods, and it's as if she _does_ know. She's grasping at his hand. A part of him knows he doesn't deserve it; he should be dying alone. But he also knows she wouldn't let him. She's always been too damn good.

He's selfish too. Selfish for not caring because all he wants in this moment is comfort he doesn't deserve.

There's a commotion, and he hears the English accent, followed by the Scottish one. FitzSimmons – always together. Another voice with a detached note to it and he knows May's here. He hears Coulson last – giving orders and shouting and-

His world goes black, and the last thing he hears is his name, and all he wants to say is that he's sorry.


End file.
